


Beneath Your Shadow

by forthecentury



Series: 13th Month Coven [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M, demigod!junhui, it's not historically accurate at all tho aha, mad scientist!Wonwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthecentury/pseuds/forthecentury
Summary: Wonwoo really doesn't know why Junhui wants to spend time with someone like him.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Series: 13th Month Coven [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052279
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	Beneath Your Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows the ‘The Witch on Cackling Mountain’, but it’s wonhui-centric and can be read as a standalone. Some background information thus far: Jisoo is a witch, Seokmin is half-siren, and they all belong in the same magical coven.

_I’m hungry and hollow and just want someone to call my own._ _  
__-Richard Siken_

* * *

“So…” Soonyoung is saying, twiddling his thumbs sheepishly as he flounders. “Are you like… mad at me?”

“Me? Mad? At you?” Wonwoo deadpans, finally looking up from his frozen stare down at the mangled mess of metal, wood, and bowstring before him. Two weeks’ worth of meticulous handiwork and craftsmanship, destroyed in less than twenty-four hours. “Why would you _ever_ think that?”

Soonyoung pales slightly, his helpless grin weakening on his face. Next to him, Jihoon rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“I told you to be more careful, you idiot.”

“Hey! I wasn’t the one who suggested we jump off the cliff!” Soonyoung cries at once, indignant. “If you’d taken a second to give me a heads up I would’ve definitely grabbed the protective casing with me!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jihoon retorts. “Next time, I’ll just let the bloodthirsty pack of wargs chasing us down eat you instead!”

“Maybe you should, thank you very much!”

Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose as the noise levels start to rise in his laboratory; not an uncommon situation whenever those two start bickering, but he’s running on barely three hours of sleep and the racket has never helped. He tunes the bickering pair out in favour of looking critically over the special, custom-designed crossbow—or what was left of it, anyway. To be honest, he’s surprised the bow managed to maintain some semblance of its original shape after taking a tumble off a cliff, but he won’t complain. The wood will have to be replaced, and he’ll probably have to bother Seungcheol to help him with the metal in the forges again, but the scope looks salvageable. The string isn’t so bad off either, just hopelessly tangled.

“Alright,” Wonwoo raises his voice, talking over the other two. “It’s not a complete loss, so I’ll let you off the hook for now, Soonyoung. Next time, can you two stop testing Fate and your cliff-jumping skills, please? You’re lucky this thing didn’t impale you going down the mountainside.”

“What? Oh, no, it survived the cliff-jumping, if it makes you feel any better,” Jihoon snorts. “It broke when Soonyoung accidentally spooked his horse, got thrown off, and landed on it.”

“Hey!” Soonyoung yells, trying and failing to cover Jihoon’s mouth.

“Get _off_ me—mrgfhg!”

“You fell on it,” Wonwoo seethes, gripping his pliers so tight the metal creaks in his palms. “And that’s how you broke it? After everything—Kwon Soonyoung, are you actually _kidding_ me right now—”

The door to the laboratory swings open, and Junhui comes striding in, his favourite sky blue cloak billowing around him as enters.

“I thought I heard all of you yelling down here,” he says, cheerful. “What’s happening now?”

“Nothing,” Soonyoung sputters, just as Jihoon says, “Kwon Soonyoung has a fat ass,” and Wonwoo growls, “Soonyoung is _dead_ to me.”

Junhui blinks, and then throws back his head and laughs, and maybe Wonwoo is a little biased, but it sounds like all of the most beautiful sounds in the world are suddenly ringing in tandem with one another. Wind chimes on a sunny autumn day. Fire crackling in the pit, warming up a cold room. Waves in the cove crashing against the shore, soothing and calming in the night.

“Oh, dear,” Junhui says, pulling up one of the stools so he could sit by the table. He props his chin onto his palm and gazes up at Wonwoo, long lashes fluttering with every blink. “Is it because of what happened to this poor experiment? What was it, to begin with?”

“A—An enchanted crossbow,” Wonwoo manages, running a hand nervously over a piece of wood. “It looked a lot better before, I promise.”

Junhui beams at him. “Of course it was,” he says. “You made it, after all!”

The back of his neck grows warm at the blatant praise, and the heat stays there even as Junhui reaches over and begins to lift up pieces of the crossbow to inspect and comment over. Distantly, he’s aware of Jihoon and Soonyoung quickly taking advantage of his distraction to sneak out of the lab and back upstairs, eager to avoid more of his scolding, but then Junhui is holding up the scope with curious eyes and Wonwoo finds himself unable to resist addressing the implied inquiry.

Junhui is a naturally curious person; it’s no surprise he immediately asks to see the original plans of the crossbow and all the enchantments Wonwoo asked Seungkwan to help write, all the while bringing up questions and making noises of confusion when he doesn’t understand something. They talk until Mingyu pops his head into the lab and tells them dinner is ready, and before Wonwoo knows it, he’s spent yet another day talking and joking and working with Junhui—yet another day of Junhui spending all his time down in the labs, the coldest part of their whole house, even though they both know that Junhui has trouble keeping heat on himself in a human form despite the layers and sweaters and scarves he wears.

And normally, Wonwoo would’ve waved Mingyu off, lost track of the time again as he continued to tinker, and only come up when the sun had long set and most of the coven had turned in for the night. But all it took was one happy smile from Junhui and an outstretched hand before Wonwoo was leaving his lab behind for the night, climbing the stairs with his fingers entwined with Junhui’s cold ones, a strange weightlessness on his chest and shoulders as he did.

Why Junhui would willingly spend any time with him of all people, though, still remains unresolved in the back of his mind.

* * *

Seungcheol only takes a few minutes going over Wonwoo’s blueprints before nodding his approval.

“Yeah, that looks good. Once I finish up my latest commission I’ll get started on that right away.”

“There’s no rush,” Wonwoo says at once, because Seungcheol is a workaholic on the best of days and is far too accommodating to others for his own good. “They’re just design improvements I finished up the other day, and Seokmin managed to keep the prototype in good condition after he and Jisoo-hyung went out last time, so he’s not in a hurry.”

“I know,” Seungcheol nods. “But it looks interesting, a hell of a lot more fun than the medical tools I’ve been making for our latest snob of a client, and I want to give it a shot. So don’t worry about me.”

“Alright,” Wonwoo says, just a little dubious, but the bags under Seungcheol’s eyes and his complexion have been improving lately, so he doesn’t push. Seungcheol flips over another sketch, and then he chuckles.

“Cute,” he comments, turning the sheet towards him, and Wonwoo flushes up to his hairline when he sees the little doodle by Seungcheol’s thumb: a cat wearing round goggles, dressed up in a lab coat, with a bunch of tools surrounding him. In Junhui’s crooked handwriting, he’s scrawled _the greatest inventor in our land!_ next to the little cat.

“That’s—I’m—” Wonwoo stammers, but Seungcheol just laughs and thumbs onto the next page in the blueprints, waving Wonwoo off and gracefully giving him an out.

“Sure, sure, there’s nothing going on between the two of you, Junhui is just being silly, la la la. Now scram unless you want soot in your hair and Mingyu to scold you for getting it everywhere.”

* * *

He didn’t think much of Seungcheol’s commission until he came home from the university archives one afternoon, sheets of carefully-copied diagrams and a letter neatly wrapped and tucked under his arm, and found two customers in their storefront. The boys are still young, perhaps in their late teens, dressed warmly under thick cloaks and giving not-so-subtle, awestruck glances at Junhui, who’s perched on the windowsill with his legs pulled up, a heavy blanket over his lap, sorting through a box of mixed gemstones that gleam under the afternoon sun.

Minghao is manning the counter today, and he gives Wonwoo an eye-roll as he packs up the boxes and boxes of medical instruments Seungcheol made in large travelling cases. Wonwoo grins back; it’s not uncommon for visitors to get clotheslined by Junhui’s stunning beauty, which is why Jeonghan sometimes makes Junhui sit in the back room to do his work. Our Junnie is too distracting, he’d tease.

One of the boys turns towards him as he walks past, and Wonwoo’s gaze falls onto an awful, familiar school crest sewn onto the front of the cloak.

The folder drops from under his arms, and his numb fingers fail to catch it in time. It hits the floor and bursts open; parchment and paper fly everywhere.

The boy jumps, but he and the other student dutifully bend down and gather the ones that have drifted close to them.

Wonwoo, on stiff, aching joints, can barely lean over to pick up the ones at his feet. His hands are shaking, the papers trembling violently in his grasp. The inside of his chest is cold, frigid as a winter’s night, and there’s a buzzing in the back of his head that won’t go away.

“Hey,” Minghao’s voice floats to him from the side. “Are you alright?”

“Mister,” the boy says, holding out the papers to him, crest burning into Wonwoo’s vision. “You dropped these.”

“Wonwoo?”

Junhui’s cold touch to his wrist sends him startling upright like a frightened cat, and he barely has the thought to snatch the papers and whisper a strangled apology before he bolts, descending down the stairs in a frenzy, past the rooms that don’t belong to him, and far, far away into the depths of his laboratory. He shoves the door shut and locks it, and then he slides down onto the floor, shaking and sweating and clutching at the front of his shirt, feeling sweat at his temples and his breath stuck in his throat. The sight of the school crest remains seared deep into the recess of his mind, dredging up terrible thoughts and awful things he wishes he would never remember.

* * *

The house is quiet when he finally emerges from the depths of his laboratory, back aching from sitting on the floor for so long, stomach bruised from hunger.

He emerges from the lower floors like a zombie, curling along the walls, hands twisting restlessly by his sides. There is a tray on the kitchen counter with a stone pot on it, still warm to the touch, and when Wonwoo slides the lid off he sees a thick broth with meats, vegetables, and herbs inside. Mingyu must’ve set it aside for him.

Grateful, he takes the tray, filches one of Minghao’s energy potions from the cabinet, and he’s halfway down the hall and back to his lab before he hears it.

“Wonwoo?”

It’s Junhui, and Wonwoo blinks when the other man materializes from the dark beside him, concern etched over his handsome features. Wonwoo swallows, throat suddenly tight.

“Junnie.”

“Oh, good, you found your dinner,” Junhui says, relieved. “Come, keep me company in the lounge.”

A burst of warmth washes over him when Junhui pushes the sliding doors open, revealing a hearty fire crackling in the hearth. There’s an open book and another heavy, knitted blanket lying on the reclining seats, and on the table is one of Minghao’s ornate teapots set over a flickering tealight, keeping the liquid inside warm.

“Sit,” Junhui says, guiding Wonwoo into the chair across from his own. Wonwoo does, and obediently lifts the lid off the pot and takes his first bite of food in hours under Junhui’s expectant gaze. His heart flips in his chest when Junhui’s smile widens, pleased.

“You must be so hungry. Here, let me get you a drink, one that’s not an energy potion, you don’t need that right now. This is one of my sisters’ recipes.” Junhui carefully lifts the teapot off the stand, pouring out two cups of dark, aromatic tea as he speaks. It’s heavy and heady, and reminds Wonwoo of herbal syrup and slept-in sheets.

“Thank you,” Wonwoo says, taking his cup. It’s surprisingly refreshing on the first sip, but sits warm at the back of his throat immediately after. It makes him want to curl up under Junhui’s blanket and close his eyes. “It’s really good.”

“I’d pass your compliments along, but I don’t want my sister to get a bigger head than she already does,” Junhui snorts. “But I’m glad you like it, all the same.”

He never liked talking about his siblings; the most Wonwoo has gotten out of Junhui after knowing him all these years is that Junhui is the oldest of twelve, is deeply repulsed by most of their arrogance, and is the only one to have taken a human form, a wish granted to him only because he’s his mother’s favourite.

The silence lasts for as long as it took for Wonwoo to finish his meal, set the tray aside, and begin sipping on the second cup of tea Junhui pours him.

“You aren’t going to ask what happened?” Wonwoo finally whispers. Shame prickles at his cheeks.

Junhui tilts his head at him. There’s no judgement in his gaze, only a gentleness Wonwoo isn’t sure he deserves.

“No,” Junhui replies. “Not unless you want to tell me about it.”

Wonwoo closes his eyes. “I will. One day. It’s—it’s a long story.” His fingers tighten around his cup. “I—I can’t recall some parts of it, though.”

Junhui makes a contemplative noise. “Then you can tell me when you want to,” he repeats. “We have plenty of time! But right now you’re tired, so you should think of nicer things. I can read again, if you want. Seungkwan had a collection of poems delivered the other day, and the one I’m reading right now is quite nice. Or we can just talk, like we always do.”

Junhui has a nice voice for poetry. Back when Minghao’s nightmares used to keep him up at ungodly hours, Junhui would sit with him and read until the witch would finally doze off, lulled to sleep by the soothing and even qualities of Junhui’s voice. Wonwoo listened in back then too, letting Minghao lay his head on his lap while Junhui led them through enchanting tales and lucrative adventures. Sometimes Seungcheol would be there as well, sipping on a glass of whiskey with fondness in his eyes, or Jeonghan, holding Minghao’s hand and rubbing light circles into his wrists.

But right now, he just wanted to hear about Junhui.

“Tell me about your mother again,” he says quietly, leaning into the soft backing of his chair. Junhui’s eyes light up, bright at the mention of the beautiful goddess who brought him into existence.

“I don’t think I’ve told you about her favourite painting before, have I? Humans have made a lot of interpretations of the moon over the years, but there is one she thought was the best.”

* * *

They talk and talk, until Wonwoo’s eyes start to droop and the effects of the tea begins to settle in. Junhui is tactful, suspending his story when Wonwoo’s head lolls back for the third time, and begins to corral him from the chair and out of the lounge, towards his room.

“Don’t worry about the dishes,” Junhui chastises. “You need rest. Off you go!”

Wonwoo chuckles, tired but happier. He reaches out and grasps Juhuni’s hand, hoping a bit of his own warmth transfers over.

“Thank you, Junnie,” he says. “Have a goodnight.”

Junhui squeezes in response, though his touch lingers for a few seconds longer than necessary. It’s enough to bring Wonwoo back to full alertness, especially when Junhui takes a step closer, his other hand coming up to smooth the wrinkles of Wonwoo’s shirt down.

“You too, Wonwoo.”

And then he’s gone, flitting back into the lounge to tidy up, and Wonwoo staggers downstairs into his lab, heart racing in his chest. He feels like a child again, riled up by the smallest bits of affection directed his way, and it makes him feel silly. Junhui is kind and caring with everyone in the coven—he isn’t special here.

Running a hand over his face, Wonwoo sighs and lights a candle on his desk, staring listlessly down at his scattered papers from this afternoon. Just a little longer, he figures. The night is still young, and there's texts and diagrams and a short but promising letter with a handful of fabric samples from an acquaintance of Seungkwan's, who offered to meet with him at the upcoming marketday to show off his collection of textiles. Wonwoo can already see his current project come to life; how the gleaming, rippling folds of enchanted cloth would look draped over Junhui's shoulders, as stunning and illuminating as a full moon on the darkest night.

Just for a little longer.

* * *

The candle is down its last few flickers when the door to the laboratory creaks open.

It ushers in a draft that sends the dwindling flame into a dizzying dance, casting long and erratic shadows against the wall as Junhui treads silently into the room, the hem of his sleeping robe drifting over the cold stone floor. In his arms, he holds the warmest blanket from his collection, a soft grey thing, fuzzy and pilled from years of snuggling and love.

Wonwoo sleeps with his head pillowed in his arms, cheek pressed against the sleeve of his shirt, undoubtedly leaving him with a crease against his face when he wakes up later. He looks years younger when he slumbers, untouched and unburdened by the harsh realities of the world and his own complicated thoughts. This is how Junhui likes him best; comfortable, and at peace.

Of course, there is a reason why he's bothered and haunted during his waking hours.

_It_ hovers over Wonwoo like an ugly leech, clinging to his shadows and sapping him of strength and energy. It sucks away at the good thoughts and happiness, leaving behind a drain that hollows out the soul and carves grooves of hurt into the mind. Junhui's lip curls in disdain as the shadow rears up to him now, rattling about and trying to intimidate.

" _Leave him, you loathsome bug,_ " Junhui hisses, trying and failing to curb the anger roiling in his veins.

The shadow shifts, sneering, as though to taunt him. It creeps over Wonwoo's sleeping form like a disease, making Wonwoo twitch and whimper softly in his sleep, and Junhui immediately feels a flare of rage and possessiveness spear through him.

The room tilts, warping under his anger and his powers. The shadow jolts like it’s been shocked. It writhes in pain, dropping away from Wonwoo and skittering into the corners of the room like a scrambling rat, twisting over the stone and squeezing itself into the cracks. Junhui fixates on the tail of it, the little wretch, and imagines snapping it in half.

A flash of white, a crack, and squeal. Something falls into the ground and disintegrates as the rest of the shadow barely manages to escape into the walls, scurrying away. Junhui huffs, annoyed. Serves that little coward right. It’ll be back, but for now, it’s gone.

A small, sleepy noise draws his attention once more. Wonwoo shifts in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing, and Junhui swoops in at once, pressing a cool palm against the nape of Wonwoo's neck.

"Shhh," he soothes. "It's nothing, go back to sleep."

Wonwoo mumbles something, chews the inside of his cheek, and then he's still once more. Junhui grins, smoothing back a few errant strands of dark hair before plucking the spectacles off Wonwoo's face and setting them carefully out of reach on the table. He drapes the warm blanket over the sleeping scientist's shoulders, tucking it in around his elbows, watching the way the fabric glimmered with his magic before settling in a protective cover. It's the best he could do for now, and Junhui hopes it'll be enough to get Wonwoo through the night.

"Goodnight," he whispers, daring to press his lips softly against the crown of Wonwoo's head, before leaning over and blowing out the candle.

Junhui leaves, letting Wonwoo rest under the gentle glow of the blanket, bathing the dark room in a soothing glow of pale moonlight.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that one scene in Howl's Moving Castle where Howl sees Sophie in her younger form while she is asleep.
> 
> In case it wasn’t obvious, Jun is the child of a moon goddess! I say demigod, which also means "a being with partial or lesser divine status", as he doesn't have a mortal parent. Wonwoo is simply human, and he’s got a secret.
> 
> [This Junhui](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EojT2CJVgAESyVT?format=jpg&name=large) and [this Wonwoo](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EPFo3f-WAAM-1XB?format=jpg&name=medium).


End file.
